


Warm at Night

by spacehopper



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Blow Jobs, Drunk Sex, M/M, Purple Hawke
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-14
Updated: 2017-08-14
Packaged: 2018-12-15 03:33:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11797551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacehopper/pseuds/spacehopper
Summary: Anders might question the general wisdom of sex in a Lowtown alley, but Hawke is impossible to argue with.





	Warm at Night

Hawke was singing.

“You know Andraste's old mabari, he don't show up in the Chant,” he slurred, weaving his way down the alley in front of Anders. A dog howled, whether in support or pain, Anders wasn’t certain.

Singing might be too kind a word for it.

 “Everyone’s a critic,” Hawke said, clearly taking the dog’s statement as agreement with Anders’s own unvoiced critique. But despite this Hawke was, as ever, undeterred, and proceeded with the song as they continued to slowly make their way through the thankfully deserted Lowtown. Finally, as they reached the point their paths would diverge, Hawke bellowed out the final lines.

“Yes that mabari's the companion of the Maker's Holy Bride!” He finished with a gesture Anders thought might have been intended as patriotic, but mostly managed to look vaguely insane.

 “Are you trying to get us jumped by passing angry Marchers?” Anders asked. He’d meant it as a joke, but as he said it, he realized he sounded more irritated than amused. And why shouldn’t he? It was a genuine concern, and even if the deserted streets might provide cover from the Templars, he doubted Hawke would be much help, considering how absolutely plastered he seemed to be. And he really needed to get back to Darktown, he’d been working on the latest version of his manifesto when he’d been dragged away, practically kidnapped, by the all too cheery duo of Hawke and Isabela.

“You,” Hawke said, turning around and stumbling against him, “need to lighten up.”

Anders suppressed his initial impulse to argue that he if lightened up, then who would fight for mages? Who would heal the sick and downtrodden masses of Darktown? Though only barely, and only because Hawke was distractingly warm against his side, one arm now looped around his waist.  And even then, he might’ve argued had he not found himself unceremoniously dragged into nearby alley and pressed against a rather dirty wall, Hawke’s mouth on his, breath stinking of cheap whisky and beer.

Against all sense, Hawke had gotten into a drinking contest with Isabela, something Anders could say from dimly remembered personal experience was a terrible idea. To his surprise, Hawke had fared better than expected. Though perhaps it had just been Isabela taking pity on him and bowing out early, or even more likely, the coins he’d seen Varric pass her under the table. Regardless, Hawke had survived the contest, and had even accepted the many glasses of the Hanged Man’s extremely dubious water Anders had forced on him in an attempt to sober him up. That, and a dash of surreptitious healing magic.

None of it, however, was enough to subdue Hawke completely, as Anders was experiencing very, very personally now. Hawke’s mouth had moved to his neck, and he choked back a sound as Hawke nipped at the sensitive skin on his throat, while his hand drifted ever lower.

“Hawke.” Anders swallowed hard as that hand reached its destination, pressing against the all too obvious bulge in his pants. “Not—“ His words died as Hawke slid his hands down Anders’s legs, touch lingering as he dropped to his knees with a ridiculous grin on his face.

“—here,” he choked out, sagging involuntarily against the wall as Hawke mouthed him through the thin fabric. “Hawke,” he gasped, fingers clutching at his hair, not sure if he wanted to pull Hawke closer or push him away.

Hawke looked up at him, hair tussled from where Anders had grabbed it. He was grinning, like a cat who’d gotten into the cream, or considering it was Hawke, a mabari who’d stolen his shoe, and somehow he managed to look utterly stupid and unbelievably sexy at the same time.

“Isabela said it was important to eat when you drank,” he said, deadly serious the way he only managed when being completely daft.

“I don’t think,” Anders said. _I don’t think that’s what she meant,_ he wanted to say, but then, it was Isabela, so this may have been exactly what she meant. “I don’t think Isabela is who I’d necessarily take advice from in this situation.” Or any situation.

“Oh, I think Isabela is exactly who I’d take advice from now,” Hawke said. While Anders had been distracted, Hawke’s hand had come to rest on his thigh, and was moving slowly upward. “In fact,” Hawke said, “that might not be her only good idea.” His other hand was hovering over Anders’s cock, and he felt a sudden familiar tension in the air.

“Don’t you dare use magic while drunk,” Anders said. Hawke pouted, giving his best puppy eyes, but Anders had never been a dog person, and Hawke relented. “Don’t look at me like that. I’ve been there before, it always ends in disaster.” He wanted to take back the words almost immediately, as it seemed his past experience, or perhaps the mention of disaster, was seemingly enough to cheer Hawke up, because the grin was back.

“You’ll have to tell me about it sometime,” he said.

He fervently hoped Hawke didn’t remember. He wasn’t sure what, exactly, Hawke would do with information gleaned from his drunken magical exploits, but whatever it was, it almost certainly would end in significant property damage, a minimum of three injuries, and his own wounded pride. Something Anders might have risked in his younger days, but no longer. And yet.

“I wouldn’t,” he said, regretting it even as he continued doggedly onward, “necessarily object if you were sober.”

“Which you are not,” he added, before Hawke could get any ideas.

“Not sober enough for spells,” Hawke agreed. “But there are other kinds of magic.” He leered at Anders, making a gesture more outright lewd than suggestive. Anders should have left in disgust right then and there. But then, this was the man who’d responded to a love confession by offering food, and yet here Anders was.

“No one will see,” Hawke said, lips quirking. He sounded far less inebriated than before, almost like he was trying to comfort Anders. “I want to.”

“I—“ Anders turned his head away, cheek rubbing against the rough stone, suddenly unable to meet Hawke’s eyes. He was going to regret this. He just knew it. “All right.”

“I knew it was impossible to resist my many charms,” Hawke said, waggling his eyebrows in a manner that was both ridiculous and oddly attractive. For someone who’d drunk so much, he was dealing quite adeptly with the cloth between him and his target, and oh, Maker, none of this should feel as good as it did. All Hawke had done was wrap his hand around Anders’s cock, rough with callouses from his staff, and it was already leaving him slightly breathless. His eyes had fallen shut, head tipped back against the wall, but they flew open again as he felt Hawke’s warm breath ghost over his cock. Then he felt the slightest touch of his tongue, just the tip moving slowly up, then down again.

He expected this foreplay, or whatever it was, to go somewhere, but to his annoyance, Hawke kept at it with the licking. Did he get this from Isabela, too? Never take sex tips from Rivaini pirates, Anders would have told him, had he thought to ask. Clearly this was some sort of strange torture, because it was just enough to keep all of his attention focused on what Hawke was doing, but not enough to find any damn relief. His fingers curled against the wall, and he finally managed to speak.

“What are you—“ He choked back a groan as Hawke briefly sucked before going back to the frustrating licking. “Are you a mabari?”

“Why, Anders,” Hawke said, sitting back on his heels. “I didn’t know you subscribed to such hurtful stereotypes about Fereldans. Just because we love dogs, doesn’t mean we are dogs.” As if intent on undermining his own point, Hawke ran his tongue up Anders’s cock, and it was both too much and too little at the same time.” He couldn’t suppress the sound this time, and he heard himself whimper.

“But if that’s what you like, well, who am I to judge?” Hawke said. He cocked his head, looking far too much like the aforementioned mabari, and of all things, let his tongue loll out, before grinning and burying his face in Anders’s crotch, which was not the least bit a turn on.

As Hawke made a huffing noise, Anders found he couldn’t help it anymore. He burst out laughing. He shouldn’t laugh, it only encouraged Hawke, and Hawke definitely did not need encouraging. This was clearly Hawke’s cue to become far more serious about the whole affair, because it was as Anders was gasping for breath that he took him fully into his mouth. Before Anders could cut off the sound, his laughter turned into a far too loud groan, and he fervently hoped no one was passing near them. Particularly not Isabela. Or Aveline. He honestly wasn’t sure which would be worse.

But as Hawke continued his attentions, Anders found he increasingly didn’t care in the least. He buried one of his hands in Hawke’s hair, not even trying to direct him, as he was doing a brilliant job, just to have something to hold onto. He felt Hawke’s hand come up behind him, clutching his ass and pushing him deeper into Hawke’s mouth, which was just. Inhuman. How could Hawke do this? Perhaps, Anders thought dazedly, this was what he’d meant about magic.

He shuddered as the fingers tightened, and felt himself tightening, the wet heat too much. He tried to warn Hawke, tugging on his hair, but he just kept at it, sucking and stroking with his tongue. After what was a time that seemed too soon, and yet not long enough, Anders came, and Hawke swallowed. It was, he thought as he sank slowly down the ground beneath him, quite possibly the best, worst blow job he’d ever had.

Hawke pulled back to give Anders room to collapse on the grimy stone, and as he watched, Hawke licked his lips, and that shouldn’t be as hot as it was. His hand was still in Hawke’s hair, and as Hawke gave him a goofy, satisfied smile, he found he couldn’t quite resist the impulse to scratch behind Hawke’s ear.

“Good dog,” he said, face as straight as he could manage. Hawke actually seemed to be speechless for a moment, which Anders counted as quite the triumph, before he started chuckling, leaning forward and burying his face against Anders’s throat.

“Taking it a bit far, aren’t you?” he said, then made a noise that sounded far too like his own mabari to have been unintentional. Hawke was, as ever, the master of taking a joke too far.

“You started it,” Anders replied. He felt content, and it should be disgusting, how sticky he was, how sticky Hawke has, and that they were sitting in a _very_ dirty alley. But Hawke was so warm and solid against him, nothing else mattered.

Anders barely smothered a grin as he said, “Good dogs deserve a treat.” He held out his hand in front of Hawke’s face, where he stared at it for a moment before getting want Anders was going for, and obligingly licking, tongue lingering on his fingers and palm much the way it had lingered on his cock. It was, or it should be, disgusting, considering everything Anders had likely touched tonight, but he was finding the post-orgasm bliss was eliminating the objections he might normally have had. And what use was healing, anyway, if you didn’t use it to help your loved ones? So Anders reached into Hawke’s pants, stroking him slowly at first, then faster, tighter, as Hawke’s quickening breath urged him on.

“I love you,” Hawke mumbled against his throat as he came, one hand clutching Anders’s shirt to hold him close. He felt his response catch in his throat, and swallowed. He knew that Hawke loved him, but Hawke tended to dance around the subject, as if saying the words was somehow dangerous. He wondered, sometimes, if it had to do with all Hawke had lost, Leandra the most recent but not the first. Regardless, he appreciated it when Hawke did say it.

“I love you, too,” he said, stroking Hawke’s hair and closing his eyes.

They sat there as minutes passed, tangled together in the quiet Lowtown streets, before Hawke finally stirred, standing with a groan and straightening his clothes. He reached a hand down to Anders, who took it gratefully. As he arranged his own clothing into some semblance of order, Hawke came up behind him, arms looping around his waist and chin resting on his shoulder.

“Come home with me?” he asked. “Otherwise it’ll just be me and the dog.”

_Don’t leave me alone,_ Anders heard. Echoes of words Hawke couldn’t say, might never say. Had that been it, this whole night? A way to make sure Hawke wasn’t alone? He had so much to do, mages to save, and patients who might come before morning, needing the only healer they could find.

“And we couldn’t have that, could we,” he said, hands coming to rest on top of Hawke’s. “Not with your strange fetishes.”

Hawke smiled against his skin, and he felt lighter for it.

**Author's Note:**

> The title is an abbreviated reference to "Andraste's Mabari," which is also the song Hawke is singing.


End file.
